


The Scion Secret Starlight Gift Exchange

by MoF10



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Annoyed Thancred, Enemies to Enemies but less, Fluff, Gen, Happy G'raha, Mischevious Emet-Selch, Secret Santa, Somewhat Genocidal Zenos yae Galvus, Thancred's going through a lot here, The Whole Gang's Here - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:42:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28321086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoF10/pseuds/MoF10
Summary: Thancred was going to get the Warrior back for this one, just as soon as this cursed gift exchange was over.The Warrior of Light puts four semi mortal enemies into their very own secret Santa. It goes surprisingly well.
Relationships: implied relationships - Relationship
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12
Collections: Bookclub Winter Fic Exchange 2020





	The Scion Secret Starlight Gift Exchange

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Usagi_Mitsu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Usagi_Mitsu/gifts).



> Thanks for giving me a lot of freedom with the prompt, and I hope that this interpretation of Secret Santa is fun! It was a real good time writing the character interactions between these four, and it's giving me wild ideas for future fics.
> 
> Happy Starlight!

“You ‘purr’ more than any Miqo’te I’ve met.” G’raha commented as Thancred grumbled for what felt like the twentieth time in the last bell. The ex-exarch didn’t look up from his journal that he was paging through. “Granted, I haven’t made a habit of meeting my kind for nearly a century.”

“Most don’t have to give a gift to a demon.” The rogue slid down in his chair with a sigh. G’raha idly wondered if he had been spending more time around Alisaie. “Of all the people...”

“Our Warrior works in mysterious ways.” G’raha noted, fingers toying with the corner of a page. “Though a ‘Scion Secret Starlight Surprise’ was most unexpected, even for her.” 

Thancred pinched his nose. The Warrior had done an admirable job of clearing out the Rising Stones for the upcoming gift exchange, leaving only a pair of red fur ears to listen to his grumblings. “Did she ever explain why she chose groups of four?”

“A Scion Secret Starlight Surprise bracket, if I recall correctly.”

Thancred sighed in return, extracting a hastily wrapped brown package from his coat. “Serves me right, letting our agent of chaos plan this era’s festivities.”

“I take it you didn’t receive me for the exchange.” G’raha said neutrally.

“What gave it away?”

“ ‘Tis easy to spot when one well versed in  _ secrets _ is keeping one.” A new voice answered, Emet-Selch’s distinctive register sparking instinctive annoyance in Thancred and amusement through G’raha. “What, is  _ that  _ for me?” He asked with feigned nobility.

“I wish.” Thancred glared at the Ascian with unresolved anger piercing his gaze. For someone that was supposed to be unpredictable, void-gating himself into the Stones was uncharacteristic.

The subject of his anger only shrugged, sitting in a chair next to G’raha without excess formality. “If you’ve still resolved to hate all of us for Lahabrea’s  _ foolish _ idea...” He poked the tiger with his words. “To think, you  _ still  _ cannot even make an allowance for tempering? Perhaps my grandson  _ was _ right in his assessment of you...”

Thancred crossed his arms, willing his arm away from punching the words out of the ancient’s mouth. “Zodiark didn’t change a godsdamned thing about you.” He groused as G’raha stood. 

“The Warrior left snacks and refreshments for us. Do either of you take sugar in your tea?” He attempted to defuse the usual Ascian-Gunbreaker convergence with a lighthearted inquiry.

Thancred looked at him with minor incredulity.

“Two sugar cubes, if you please.” Emet-Selch brushed a dust-mite off the table with his glove, not looking as the doors to the Rising Stones swung open with a creak. “Ah. The last member of our party has arrived.”

“...Grandfather.” Zenos strode in, decidedly casual by his standards in a thin layer of plate armor. He deigned to greet the other two with the smallest of nods, which was bounds better than the usual ‘attempt to murder them and their peoples’ that he employed as a standard means of introduction and farewell. He sat in the last free chair, crossing his arms in boredom.

“How on earth.” Thancred stared at the man with a hand on his blade. “Did no one even  _ question  _ you?”

“...No one that mattered.” Zenos purred. 

“For gods’ sake. If you  _ murdered  _ anyone on your way here- _ ”  _

The prince only shrugged, eyes nearly slipping closed. “Not this time.”

“Happy Starlight. Your tea.” G’raha distributed four cups of tea across the table, sitting down with a half-genuine smile.

For a moment, the four men sipped their tea, somehow maintaining a sort of civility as slurps replaced conversation.

“I believe we haven’t had the pleasure of meeting!” The sole miqo’te said across the table to Zenos, ears wiggling as he sipped his sweet tea. “G’raha Tia.”

Emet-Selch smirked Zenos’ eyes slowly slid open. “Zenos yae Galvus,” the prince muttered. “A recent addition to the Scions?”

G’raha nodded. “Though I’ve been in contact with them for far longer, I only officially joined their ranks a moon prior.” He found it difficult not to beam with some pride, as well as reconcile the stories of a genocidal maniac with the bored looking man before him. 

“I see.” 

The four returned to silence. The soft clatter of teacup to saucer sounded closer to bombshells than pleasant company. 

“Before we get on with the… festivities,” Hades began, Thancred nearly flinching at the sudden noise. “I wasn’t aware that Garlemald celebrated Starlight.”

“We don’t,” Zenos muttered, “But a certain warrior promised me a  _ wonderful _ battle should I attend.”

Thancred sighed. The only consistent thing about the scarily inconsistent prince was how the Warrior could convince him to do  _ anything _ as long as it came packaged with a duel to the (near) death. He only hoped that after the last debacle she at least consulted Tataru to find a venue with far less risk of property damage than  _ Limsa.  _ That, or his gift would be accepted.

“She…?” G’raha barely kept himself from interrupting Zenos. “Pray tell, she promised you a  _ battle?”  _ He was already running through the list of the most skilled conjurers he knew. Krile, Chessamile, and the Warrior herself were the only ones that came to mind. He gulped. He knew next to nothing of the Prince, but those he spoke to never failed to mentioned his far beyond exceptional prowess for murder.

“Yes... and I look forward to it.” Something approaching a smile crossed Zenos’ face.

Silence crawled over them once more. While the two mortals in the room were reasonably sure that the ‘party’ wouldn’t end in bloodshed, breaking bread with a man who had literally  _ shot _ one of them was strange, to say the least.

Thancred wondered if the tea was laced with some sort of alcohol as a question directed towards the older Ascian left his mouth. “Do you even need to eat?” Emet-Selch laughed lightly before responding.

“Me?” He gestured to himself with unneeded flair. “I suppose I could get by without it, though this vessel begins complaining if I don’t bother. Another inexplicable flaw...”

“Hmph. Are you telling me that your  _ perfect kind _ never came up with lemon tarts?” Thancred took an indignant sip of his tea. (As indignant as one could make a prim sip of tea, at least).

“Quite the opposite. As I’m sure you know, we all do _many_ things not required for our continued existence.” Hades swirled his tea as he spoke, nostalgia painting his features. “Persephone was quite partial to _your_ tarts if I recall.” 

Thancred was taken aback. “Mine?” Bits and pieces of the time before were all he had - not that he made a habit of living in the past, he’d done that enough with Minfilia - but to hear Hades tell it, he was far different then. (Him. Lemon tarts. He hadn’t even  _ touched _ an oven since the great kitchen disaster of the sixth era.)

“Oh, yes. I tried all I could to recreate them but-” Hades’ hand stopped moving, leaving the leaves inside to continue their orbit of the glass. “They never lived up to yours. Or so I’m told.”

“Hm.” There would be time before the next war to try again, wouldn’t there? “Mayhap I’ve chosen the wrong discipline.”

“Before you go on, might we perform the exchange? Not that I mind hearing of the time before ours, but I am admittedly excited.” G’raha spoke with surprising passion, his features soft. 

“Very well. I’m sure Thancred is going to  _ relish  _ the experience.” Emet-Selch said with a smirk. The rogue crossed his arms in practiced exasperation.

“Then let’s start. Who’ll begin?”

A few moments of silence passed before G’raha spoke again.

“Erm... I may-”

“Your gift.” Zenos unceremoniously dropped a magitek revolver onto the table, the teacups clattering but not spilling their now just-below-hot contents.

“F-for me?” G’raha stared at the gun with apprehension and curiosity as he picked up the warm metal. It looked completely out of place in his hands, his fingers unsure where to place themselves and the gun only  _ barely _ fitting his hands.

“Use it well.” He replied, leaning back into his statue-like nonchalance.

“I would if I… knew how.” He kept the gun pointed away from anyone or anything important as he turned it over, half admiring the perfect chrome smithing and half still unsure how to work this particular instrument of death. “Is there... where is the ammunition?” Was the first of many questions that came to mind.

“Aether.” Zenos’ single word was supposed to convey a thousand, but did the work of zero.

“What he means to say is you charge the gun with aether once it runs dry.” Emet-Selch added. “What? The Allagan empire was founded by  _ my _ hand. I would expect myself to know a  _ little _ about magitek.”

Thancred tightened, seeing the moons of lessons that he was about to give to G’raha. After all, he had the mind and body of a scholar, neither of which prepared him for the unique difficulty of aether-arms. (Namely, that it was quite easy to aim at the broad side of a barn and  _ miss.) _

Hades seemed to be following a similar line of thought, as a training dummy and thick wall appeared from nowhere in the designated training area of the Rising Stones.

“We came to an agreement about Creation  _ inside.”  _ Thancred noted. 

“And would you rather he learns  _ outside?” _ Emet-Selch chuckled breathlessly. “After we finish,  _ you _ can teach him. I am merely providing a safe venue for practice.”

Thancred had to concede. “Tch. As long as  _ you _ clean up the mess.”

“While I am willing to learn, might we finish our exchange before we-I destroy the surrounding area?” G’raha placed the gun on the table as if it were a feral coeurl, then carefully drew a wax-sealed letter from his bag. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll go next.”

The replies around the table ranged from idle nods to indifference, though there was mild interest towards the letter from anyone who wasn’t Zenos.

“Em-Hades, here’s your gift.” He held out the letter for Hades to take, the paper crinkling as it was passed into the Ascian’s gloved hands. He held it to the light, trying to scry whatever was inside.

“Go on, open it!” G’raha beamed at Emet-Selch. Thancred looked on in amazement. Hadn’t his recipient literally held him hostage two moons ago?

Hades was bemused, holding the letter between two fingers. “This is a gift? It seems a little… lacking, unless you have written me a  _ love letter.”  _

G’raha blushed at the idea. “No, nothing of the sort.”

“Hm, then,” he cracked the seal, flipping the envelope open as if he were performing a play. “What could you have come up with?”

G’raha’s blush turned to a grin as Emet-Selch pulled out a torn piece of parchment and Thancred raised a brow. There were scrawlings hastily written in, and even a small lopsided heart dotting the bottom right corner.

Hades began translating the scrawls aloud, failing to contain a smirk. “This paper entitles the holder, Hades, to one favour from me, the Warrior of Light and or Darkness. He may redeem it by handing it to me. She signed it with a child’s rendition of a heart.” He revealed the paper to the rest of the table.

“A dangerous gift.” Zenos said slowly and deliberately, as if a literal  _ gun _ wasn’t part of that category.

“...Yes.” The bearer of the favour agreed. “I already have something in mind.” He said with an unreadable smile.

“Well, she wouldn’t have given it to him if she wasn’t prepared for what he might use it for.” Thancred shrugged. “Still monumentally  _ stupid,  _ if you ask me.”

G’raha laughed lightly. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t sure what to give a man who could create anything on his own, at least until I asked the Warrior herself.”

“I see no mention of restrictions on this favour.” Hades placed the parchment next to the gun with extreme care. 

“She told me there were none.” G’raha crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair before adding: “Well, aside from murder that isn’t of Garlean soldiers. Probably.”

Zenos didn’t react. Killing his army was a passion that he shared with his Warrior.

“Very well.” The Ascian carefully stowed away the priceless artifact within his coat. “I’ll use this wisely.”

The table went silent for a moment, the lot of them pondering what sort of perturbed favour the Warrior would allow herself to perform, and the Ascian giving nothing away with a poker face trained over eons.

“My gift, then?” Hades summoned a small lidded jewelry case only a little larger than a matchbox, waiting for any objections before holding it out to Thancred. “This is yours.”

The rogue looked at the case as if it might contain a bomb as he carefully picked it out from the Ascian’s hands. The soft fabric lining the box was in direct contrast with Thancred’s mistrust.

_ “Please.  _ It isn’t going to bite.” Hades sighed.

“You have boxes that  _ can?”  _ G’raha asked from Thancred’s side.

The Ascian had to think for a moment before answering. “Not at the moment.” 

Thancred carefully slid the lid off the box, looking at the contents with confusion. He picked up a necklace, a softly pulsing crystal acting as a pendant for a simple yet strong line of leather. He had expected something more... complex. “What is this?”

“Consider it a gift from your daughter.” Hades tried to keep a neutral expression, though one side of his mouth quirked up ever so slightly.

“My daught- This is from Ryne?” Thancred held the necklace and watched it glint in the warm light. 

Emet-Selch waved only semi dismissively. “More of a consultation. It was her, as the ancients might say, concept. A piece of eternal ice charged with some of her aether - I believe she even crafted one for her dark friend - for yours, I procured the necklace and she did the rest.” 

The rogue gazed into the crystal as Hades continued, seeing memories of the other now disconnected world playing in the glints of light. “Thank you.” He said in an uncharacteristically gentle voice.

For once, Emet-Selch was taken aback, though any surprise was quickly hidden. “Happy Starlight.” 

Thancred slid the necklace onto his neck, a thin smile being quickly usurped by a grimace as he realized the last remaining person to give a gift was him, and he and the table knew  _ exactly _ the recipient was. G’raha gave him a pitying smile while Hades looked on in idle amusement.

“Ahem.” He cleared his throat as Zenos began paying a gram more of attention. “I’m sure you and I would both prefer my gift to be a swift punch to the gut-”

“If it was powerful enough.” The prince interjected.

_ “However,  _ the Warrior made it very clear that violence from me was  _ expressly prohibited.”  _ Thancred held out his by all accounts poorly wrapped package and slid it across the table. “So I made do.”

Zenos slowly unfolded the cheap wrapping paper as G’raha found his hand inching towards his gun. Just in case it  _ did _ end in violence.

“What is this?” Zenos opened his box to reveal some sort of switch and transmitter.

Thancred folded his arms, his new necklace pulsing to a slow, steady beat. “That is a remote detonator.” 

G’raha froze, asking the next logical question before Zenos could. “A detonator for  _ what,  _ Thancred?” Worry seeped into his question.

“Oh, just to a few bombs I put on some ceruleum pumps. They might power the XIVth legion. Might not.”

The prince traced his finger over the activation switch. “And why would I wish to detonate those?”

“For fun.”

Zenos did not flick the switch.

“And I have it on good faith that the Warrior  _ loves _ explosions. Adores fighting in craters.”

Zenos flicked the switch without hesitation. “I take it she’ll already be waiting for my arrival.” A sudden fire was behind his eyes.

“Castrum Meridianum.” Thancred clarified. “Consider it your payment for attending.”

“...Oh, I shall.” He stood, leaving without so much as a wave.

G’raha stared as the doors clanged shut while Emet-Selch restrained a laugh. 

“Was that really-”

“Yes. And before you ask, the Warrior  _ has _ agreed.” Thancred chuckled. “I guess I  _ am _ giving him a swift punch in the gut, in a slightly more roundabout way.”

The idle chatter of the patrons up above filtered into the room for a moment. Thancred took a sip of his now stale tea, waiting for anyone else to speak before giving up and doing it himself. “Well. I think that wraps up the exchange.”

“Yes!” G’raha’s ears perked slightly as he searched for anything to talk about. He wasn’t very successful.

Though it wouldn’t really matter as Thancred allowed his curiosity to ask one question. “What  _ do _ you plan to do with that favour, anyways?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Hades smirked. 

Somewhere in the ruins of the Castrum Meridianum, the Warrior saw a vaguely imposing figure racing towards her. She smiled knowingly, happy that she had managed to give her friends - no, family the greatest gift of all.

After three wars, travelling to another world, and having to talk to Zenos, they deserved a break.


End file.
